Chapter 5
Arya hated Joffrey. Hated him, hated him, hated him. She had never forgiven the eldest Lancaster child for killing Sansa's pet and forcing her own away. They had been playing by the riverside on another trip with Mr Burton. Wherever Mr Burton went, his secretary went, forcing Arya to put up with Joffrey and his equally loathsome siblings.
They were playing at swordsmen, she and Gendry, Mr Burton's son, when Joffrey walked by. Sansa was sitting on a blanket, combing Lady's long fur. Joffrey laughed at them, asking how a little girl would want to be a knight. Arya bristled.
"I could beat you any day," she said.
"Oh, yeah?" Jeffrey jeered. "I'd like to see you try."
Nymeria had always been protective of her mistress. All the dogs were. When Joffrey hit her in the face, an agreed upon no-hit zone and drew blood, she jumped in.
She bit Joffrey's forearm, growled and tore at it while the boy screamed like the baby he was.
"I'll kill you!" he shrieked. "You and your dog!"
Arya hadn't believed him. She taunted him. What could he do? Run to his mummy?
That's exactly what he did. Joffrey ran to his mother and told her the Scotts' rabid dog bit him. Mrs Lancaster rushed him to hospital.
When she returned, she told their Dad she had called Animal Control. The dogs were rabid and had to be put down. Mr Scott could wait for them to come or put the dogs down himself.
Arya disappeared when she heard the words 'Animal Control'.
"Come on, Nymeria," she told her beloved Corgi. Tears were shining in her eyes. "We're going for a walk."
Walk they did, for hours. Arya took Nymeria as far from the river as possible. She carried Nymeria over high logs, through streams and over fences. Finally, she carried her over a low wall to someone's property. The dog would not be able to get back on her own.
"Go," she begged Nymeria. "Run. Be free. Just don't follow me back, girl. Please."
Nymeria cocked her head to the side, looking at her with her liquid black eyes.
"Go!" Arya repeated. "You can't stay with me."
In the end, she threw a rock at Nymeria. The Corgi yelped and ran off. Arya felt betrayed,
She trudged back to the campsite, hot tears trickling down her face.
Gendry was the one who found her, the one who told her that Lady was gone, that her father had been the one to do it.
Sansa and Arya cried together that night.
That trip had been two years ago. Here they were on another trip, the adults having forgotten what had happened the last time. Arya never wanted to grow up. Robb and Theon hadn't come since both were old enough to say 'no' and Robb's hatred of Joffrey rivalled Arya's own. Jon was at war.
Bran, Rickon and Mum were supposed to come but then Bran had his accident. There was nothing they could do for him and Dad had already paid for the trip. He sat Arya and Sansa down and asked them if they still wanted to go. This was the only time they would get to see their friends until next year. Arya could have cared less about the Lancasters but she liked Gendry. He was a beast at sports and perfectly happy to play Arya's games. Best of all, he didn't get along with Joffrey, either.
Arya and Sansa thought it over carefully. They asked Bran what he thought. He smiled sadly and said they shouldn't ruin their holiday on his account.
Arya should have kenned this was a bad idea.
"I hate shooting," Joffrey snarled, digging a stone out of the path with his toe and kicking it at Sansa. A grimace flickered over her face, just the slightest tightening of her lips, but didn't complain. She never complained about anything except Arya.
"I'm certain you will be very good at it, Joff," she told him politely. "Didn't you tell me Mr Burton takes you hunting every weekend?"
"Well, yes, I did. But we're not hunting: we're shooting. It isn't the same thing at all."
Joffrey was actually fairly good at shooting. Mr Burton was too drunk to pay much attention to the target and Sansa excused herself to sit on the bench, saying the shooting was much too violent for her. Arya thought she just didn't want to admit she was pants at it. Arya, of course, was excellent, if a bit rusty in her skills. Mr Burton kept trying to show everyone how to shoot. Mrs Lancaster simply sniffed when he tried to get her to join in. Mr Burton decided that meant she didn't ken how. He proceeded to show her.
"Get. Your. Bloody. Hands. Off. Me," she bit out, adding "sir" in a completely non-deferential tone. He backed away. Mrs Lancaster calmly lifted the rifle to her shoulder, held her breath and shot.
It was almost dead centre.
They shot most of the afternoon, replacing the tattered targets often. Arya was starting to see Joffrey's point about shooting being boring when Mr Burton and her dad finally called it a day. They put their rifles down and went to collect their targets. Arya, Joffrey and Sansa weren't allowed on the range because of the danger. They had to wait for one of the adults to bring their targets back.
Dad and Mr Burton were arguing over Mr Burton's target.
"See, Ned? See that? Perfect shots, all of them."
"Robert, you old fool, there are only five entry holes. You're missing more than a few."
"No, there's not!" Mr Burton's voice was very loud. "Count again, Ned! I count all ten!"
"You're drunk."
The rat-a-tat of a machine gun would haunt Arya for the rest of her life. It took only a few seconds before the gun stopped and Sansa's screaming was the only sound to be heard. Her dad was on the ground. He wasn't moving. Her dad was on the ground.
Arya leaped over the barrier and onto the range. Mrs Lancaster screamed at her to get back, not to touch them.
Arya knelt by the bodies of the two men, their clothing dotted with a spreading, horrible bright red.
"Arya, honey, I'm calling for an ambulance." Mrs Lancaster sounded so calm. Arya jerked her head up, her eyes flashing.
"Which gun was it?"
"Excuse me?"
"I said, which gun was it, you bitch?" Arya screeched. "I want to ken which one of youse killed my father!"
"Arya!" Sansa called out, shocked.
"Arya, no one killed your father. Sweetheart, get back here. It was an accident."
It turned out to be the gun on the end. Arya knew because she touched every one, to see which one was still hot. All of the rest were cook, except for the one on the end. The one right next to where Joffrey had been standing.
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Sansa couldn't breathe. The hospital staff had been so lovely to her. Everyone had been so lovely to her when they said her dad might not wake up.
Arya was muttering angrily, about how Joff was responsible, about how suspiciously similar Mr and Mrs Lancaster were, about…Westeros? That children's game? Sansa hadn't played that game in years. Arya must be in shock.
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Arya ran. She had nothing but her passport and the credit card Mum had given her for emergencies. She had to get away from here.
Sansa was already a lost cause. She would say anything Mrs Lancaster told her to say. She wouldn't tell the truth.
Arya had to get back home. Her mum needed to ken what really happened.
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Mrs Lancaster was so nice. She gave her phone to Sansa so she could call home. Sansa thanked her before she dialled.
Mum wasn't there so she talked to Robb. She told him that she and Arya were fine; they just needed to stay where they were to talk to the police.
"We're going to stay with Mrs Lancaster until this is all over," she told her brother. "We'll come home right after."
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Robb's grip was almost enough to break the plastic receiver, Theon observed from his seat by the countertop. He was relaxed with his boots resting on said countertop, cleaning his nails with a toothpick.
"The children will stay with me," Cersei Lancaster was saying, likely ignorant of the fact that she was on speakerphone. "I will call you when the doctors tell us anything more. Goodbye, Robb." She hung up. Predictably, she didn't leave them with a number for the hospital. Or a name for the place. Crafty woman.